After draining his mug following the toast, Harressh gestures at the empty stool. "Sure, join us. I am Harressh, and I suppose you could say I'm a wanderer. This is Vistrathis. What brings you to Sharn?"
Harressh seems to freeze for a moment before responding."Q'barra? Argonnessen? I have heard of their name in passing, but I know little of them." Looking over the dragonborn's equipment the half-orc remarks, "You do not wield blade like I do, do you?"
It's obvious, even to one not so perceptive as the githyanki, that the subject of swords seems to be a sensitive one for Harressh; but Vistrathis is probably the only one who notices the quick glance of contempt that the dragonborn shoots towards his staff which leans against the bar.Vistrathis takes an appraising look at both the Dragonborn and the Half-Orc, trying to ascertain exactly what they do.
As Vistrathis winds down, the dragonborn turns back. The dark pattern covers his face now, too, alongside the shadows of the hood. The effect on his sunken features is skeletal. There is no hostility in his expression, just a deep pain. At the swordmage's final words, he lets out a quiet, wistful sigh. He leans forward, looking down at the blade that Vistrathis has indicated. He extends one claw towards it, seemingly unaware of doing it, and murmurs, "Swordplay and arcane spell...""...Yes, I wield a blade like yourself, but I believe our similarities end there. My art is a marriage of tactical swordplay and arcane spell, all channeled through this extension of my being,"he says, indicating the intricately designed sword that hung, sheathed, at his waist.
"Actually, I carry two," the half-orc says, rotating slightly so the hilt of the other blade can be seen. "I wasn't trained, not in the formal sense. I fought to survive, and I fought to defend. No nature spirits? Not yet at least. At times, in the fury of battle I hear the horns first, calling us to battle. Then I hear the charging footsteps and warcries of those that fought before me. I move with them, swept up in the memory of their cause. Barbarians? You can call me that, as long as I can call the rest here foolhardy. The Wastes are a dangerous place, and others come to loot my land for the dragonshards or come to stop the evil that pervades the land. That is what they call me. "Barbarian." Most never leave. They don't understand our goal. I like you though."Kalidrev said:You, my good sir, however, do carry a rather large blade, but do not have the rigid mannerisms of one who was trained to fight by rote. This leads me to believe that you either were trained, but do not care for tactics or formation fighting, or perhaps you are more. Would you happen to be like some of the halfling on the Talenta Plain who allow spirits of nature to inhabit their bodies for a short period of time? Some would call them "barbarians", but I believe this is simply a vulgar term from those who have no understanding and plenty of fear, for that which they cannot explain. If that be the case, I would be honored to travel down the road of life with a companion such as you.
"After practice, you get used to the weight. It's a deadly game I play, I've cut myself before, and I will again. My enemies always fare worse though," he says confidently.Vistrathis turns back to the half-orc with a look that showed he was very impressed.
"Haha! My friend, now that is a feat that I could only but dream about. I could hardly lift one of your blades in two of my hands, let alone wield two at once. How do you keep from getting all tangled up in them? How do you keep from getting off balance?"
"I know how you feel. My honor keeps me on this path. If it were up to me, I'd be home. I miss my wife and kids. I can only hope they still live and when I return to them, with my honor intact. What of your family?""You don't understand," he says dully. "Not all have the luxury of walking paths of their own choice..."
At the dragonborn's long silence and terse reply, Varak shrugs and whispers to the gith, "I hope I didn't offend him. I miss my wife and kids, and if his family is gone, he needs friends."He turns to Varak. "My family. I honestly don't know how they fare. It has been some years since I left home. And at that time, those who remained... they were... ill."
Harressh stands and takes his staff in hand. "Excuse me," he says to the half-orc and gith.
[sblock=rolls]hist/street (1d20+2=14, 1d20+1=12) [/sblock]"Greetings, I am here looking for some help and you look like a fine collection of adventurers that could be useful" she purrs, "I am Miranda d'Cannith and I represent House Cannith, who are looking to contract a group of adventurer's to help us recover a lost piece of information. If you are interested, please come see me." the woman continues.
"Your wife has nothing to worry about with me, I am promised to another, but as for specifics, they are...sensitive... and I cannot discuss much more without compromising our House's property. If you wish to know more, or to help, I must confess it is scant to go on, but I must insist on agreeing beforehand. What I can tell you is that the reward for this work would be 2,000 gold pieces for the group." the woman replies, with a hint of coolness in her voice.Recognizing the woman as dragonmarked, the half-orc unconsciously flexs his shoulder, his own dragonmark beneath his armor. "No more information than that?" he says slyly. "My wife wouldn't like to know I went off with a beautiful strange woman on only a promise of adventure."